


Island in a Sea of Zack

by marylex



Category: Oz (HBO), World War Z - Max Brooks
Genre: Fusion, OFC - Freeform, Other, Post-Series, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:17:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marylex/pseuds/marylex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Free Zones had a saying: 'We didn't leave America - America left us.' Shit, America abandoned my community a long time before Zack showed up."</p><p>With the return of U.S. forces eastward, clearing and reclaiming lost ground in the second decade of the Zombie War, and following the forcible reintegration of secessionist Bolivar and the Black Hills, Catherine Hope Howell stands at the fence line of the last occupied Free Zone in the continental United States.</p><p> <br/>(An Oz/World War Z fusion.)<br/>(Caveat lector.)</p><p>Written for the Oz Gift of the Magi Challenge, 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Island in a Sea of Zack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozsaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/gifts).



_Archivist's note: The following passage is written longhand on paper and is stored at the reopened U.S. National Archives facility at College Park, Maryland. It was included among 54 boxes of paper and electronic notes, hand-marked drafts, voice and video recordings, and other materials turned over to NARA following the release of the official United Nations Postwar Commission Report on the global zombie event and the main author's subsequent publication via private press, "World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War." The passage mirrors the standard format of the follow-up publication and shows signs of rough editing but was not included in the final version of either work; there is no indication in the notes as to why this section was not chosen for publication. Events described in the interview indicate its origin early in the data-gathering process. Original handwritten notes from the interview are stored in Box D9 of the set, along with the draft of this passage. Any voice or video recordings from the interview have been lost._

 

****

**OSWALD FREE ZONE, FRANKLIN COUNTY OCCUPIED TERRITORY, USA**

 **On a break from her shift in the southwest guard tower of the former Oswald State Correctional Facility, Catherine Hope Howell stands at the chain-link fence marking the local DMZ and looks back to study the wall of the expanded compound as she takes a drag off a cigarette. ~~She's dark-eyed and dusky-skinned like an unknown father, and h~~ Her dark silky curls are chopped short, into what might have been called a pixie cut, pre-war, although the blunt edges suggest impatience more than styling. Her wiry, muscular arms are bare in the air of a late spring thaw in upstate New York; a tattoo curls around her right arm - the suggestion of a robed woman with waves breaking around her feet, a single star above her head. What looks like dog tags turn out to be a mismatched set of religious medallions strung on a single chain around her neck – St. Barbara with her tower and chains, St. Therese carrying an armful of flowers, Lazarus in his burial shroud emerging from the tomb.**

**She carries the Remington 700P slung across her back easily.**

**Unlike her mother - a guard at the old prison ~~when Hope was born, shortly before the start of the Great Panic that preceded the zombie swarms through metropolitan areas along the Eastern Seaboard~~ \- Hope's orders are to keep anything and everything out of Oswald, not in. In the chaos surrounding the U.S. government decision to retreat west of the Rockies and regroup in the face of the undead threat, ~~abandoning the East Coast and Plains sections of the country in the early days of what came to be known as World War Z,~~ Oswald and a handful of other maximum security prisons east of the Mississippi dug in their defenses. Europe had its castles - siege fortresses returned to their ancient purpose - and the New World had its prisons, small fortified outposts holding off the zombie hordes outside their walls.**

**With the return of U.S. forces eastward ~~, clearing and reclaiming lost ground~~ in the second decade of the war, and following the ~~forcible~~ reintegration of secessionist Bolivar and the Black Hills, Hope stands at the fence line of the last occupied Free Zone in the continental United States.**

 

North, they said. The only advice all those big-shots who were in charge could give anybody - go north, where it's too cold for Zack to keep moving. I guess you could say we were lucky - we were already as north as we could be, at least without crossing over into Canada. Funny how people want to act like those borders still matter. Zack didn't care about borders. Neither did G.I. Joe when he pulled back and left us here. Yeah, don't think we didn't hear about the South African Redeker Plan, the way their army just up and left people behind as bait to distract Zack while the boys in blue saved the asses of the chosen few. We knew it was just as much government policy here.

We knew we were always expendable. 

Until now, huh?

**[She grins, a quick flash of teeth.]**

Borders, right?

Anyway, the winters here come early, and we start freezing in September. Some of the oldtimers say it's even earlier than it used to be, back before the fires and the war tossed up so much crap into the atmosphere and the temperatures started dropping. ~~I was 12 before everything started clearing out enough to see the stars at night.~~ By November, Zack would be frozen solid.* I spent seven years of my life helping to clear this ground, out here walking shoulder to shoulder, just like your army finally marched its way back east.

That was the rhythm of our seasons, for years - hunker down inside the perimeter in the spring, clearing ground in the fall before the snows set in, winters spent building a new section of wall, just a little further out. Old Man Rebadow, he set the plans for the new walls, drew up blueprints every year, until the pneumonia epidemic came through. You never, ever pulled down an old section of wall until the new section was finished and enclosed, and you were always careful, deconstructed the old sections brick by brick, because that was going to be most of your new wall the next year, along with whatever you salvaged from the surrounding towns during the winter. That's what let us build out, acre by acre, so we could enclose some actual land and stop growing potatoes in plastic bags on an asphalt parking lot. Did you know you could do that? Yeah, potatoes, they'll grow in just about anything, as long as it's holding a pile of dirt. Used to be a lot of potato farmers in this area. Still are some, inside those walls. Potato farmers and skull crushers.

Shoulder to shoulder, so we didn't miss an inch, every November, smashing skulls to save ammo while Zack was dormant in the cold, just so we could push out a little farther, so we could have a little more ground behind our defenses by the spring thaw. You knew it was Christmas when we were done clearing out bodies for the year ~~, burning them, putting more shit up into the atmosphere, I guess~~. It was easier for me, maybe. I learned early on that the _misericordia_ was the kindest way to go, and I wasn’t as likely to run into ghouls with the faces of people I’d known. When they turned all those guys loose in the Exodus, before the final Lockdown – it was like releasing a great big mess of snacks for Zack, right outside the walls. The first few years, you’d see guys on the crew, out of nowhere, either losing their shit, whaling away on some poor ghoul that was already in pieces, or losing what food they had in their stomachs – the cleanup and construction crews got extra rations, so that was a goddamned waste. 

Sometimes they’d just shut down, go blank, and you knew they’d found another familiar face frozen in the mud, and somebody else would go take care of it for them. Most of the time they'd snap out of it, eventually. Usually.

I usually ended up walking my ground between Beecher and Chico, so they could keep an eye on me while Papa was at the perimeter with the dogs. Papa didn’t even want to let me out on the cleanup crew my first couple of years, and I was never really sure how much he trusted Beecher, at first, how reliable he thought Beecher would be. Not until he kicked a ghoul to pieces the second year I was out. It hadn’t frozen solid yet, right? And one of them grabbed my ankle. That long, dead brown grass you get after the first frosts – it’s perfect camo for Zack. This one had lost his legs somehow, so he was flat on the ground, and I didn’t spot him until I stepped right on him – right in him, I guess. He’d started thawing out once the sun came up, but he was still sluggish. It probably wasn’t even a big deal, he was moving so slow, but as soon as it grabbed my ankle and I yelled, Beecher just … _Madre de Dios,_ he let loose on that thing. He kicked the shit out of it. It’s weird, what I remember best is Chico and Liam and Moses standing around, laughing and clapping, and Moses patting Beecher on the shoulder afterward and telling him “Welcome back.”

Beecher just looked like he was going to be sick, like the guys who'd run across a familiar face would look, and a little bit, I remember … I remember the sweaty smell of his shirt when he tucked my face into his chest, so I couldn’t see the fingers still moving on one of the arms. They had to pry my fingers out of his sweater, I think, once they brought Father Ray out to get me. Or maybe they had to pry his fingers out of the fabric of my coat. I forget. I know he was shaking right along with me. Beecher was never quite right, all the time I knew him, but Papa … he trusted him with me after that, I guess.

**[She laughs suddenly.]**

A lot more than he’s ever trusted me to Uncle Ryan, and Ryan’s the first one who put a gun in my hands and helped me take out Zack. His trigger discipline was for shit – I had to drill with the Sarge to learn that – but Ryan’s the one who held my hands steady the first time I made that mercy shot.

~~Anyway, Beecher was never as creepy as Alonzo, _Jesucristo_ , the way he used to pet me, like I was one of the dogs. He used to tell Papa to get the salvage teams to bring back dresses for me like I was some kind of doll, can you believe that? He’d dress us both up and tell me I looked “stunning, absolutely stunning.” You get used to a lot of _loco_ in a place like Oz, but I was glad when he was gone.~~

~~**_What happened?_ ** ~~

~~Who the hell knows? He just … disappeared one day. Maybe he walked out like it was the Exodus all over again. Bad idea, in those early days, when Zack might be around every corner, or it was cold enough to freeze your ass and none of the lights were back on. Uncle Ryan helped me burn those dresses after he was gone.~~

~~I still miss Beecher, though. But there was no keeping him in Oz once the army started clearing everything between here and the Rockies. I hope he finally did find his family.~~

**_You said something earlier, something about the “misericordia.” What did you mean by that?_ **

The mercy blow - that’s what Father Ray called it, as far back as I can remember, the bullet or the blade or the bat that destroys the brain and finally kills the ghouls. He mostly used it with the Sarge, but I overheard it a couple of times, while they talked – well, while Father Ray talked. It couldn’t have been long after the Lockdown. ~~I think they both forgot I was there. I was still young enough to have been coloring in the corner of his office during the day – piles and piles of paper he pulled out of file cabinets and said I might as well use, because they weren’t going to be any use to anyone else. At least not until we burned them, that first winter.~~

“Misericordia,” he said, and I guess it just stuck. It was the kindest thing, I remember him saying. He said it was what Tim had wanted. What Gloria would have wanted, if she’d understood, at the end. The Sarge's face when he said that … he looked like one of the ghouls for a minute, but he went and poured out the bottle he’d been drinking from. I never saw him touch a drop after that, not even in the winters when the salvage crews brought in some of the decent stuff along with the other supplies they’d found in the outlying towns.

**_They tell me you were born in Oswald._ **

Near enough. My mother worked here up to the day she went into labor, they took her out of here yelling her head off from the contractions, and she was back on shift three months later. I don't know a lot about her life before ... everything. What kind of family or friends she might have had. I don't think she had anybody she could really depend on, nobody that she'd rather have left me with. Or maybe she thought we were both safer inside the walls than outside, during the Panic. She wasn't wrong. Uncle Ryan always said she wasn't stupid. He didn't always have good things to say about her, but he always said she wasn't stupid. So she hunkered us down here during the Panic, kept close to the prison and its walls and its locked doors. They were already on high-security, started tightening up as soon as they started getting those “plague” reports in North America - more intense visitor procedures, tighter mail restrictions, put all the staff on Phalanx, for all the good that snake oil did. Once the virus got into the prison, it burned right through the medical staff before they could figure out what was going on and contain it.

I was the first kid bunked here - we moved in even before the Exodus, before they opened the doors and let out anybody who was dumb or desperate enough to leave. Can you imagine? That's one of the ways we kept order during the height of it all: if you couldn't keep your shit together, if you did anything to endanger the group, you were turned outside the walls. And there you've got a bunch of sad, sorry _pendejos_ at the beginning of it all who couldn't wait to get out, like what's outside waiting for you wasn't worse. I heard about that from Uncle Ryan, too - he said he wasn't dumb enough to leave, that the minute they turned the key and opened the door to let him out, he knew better than to go.

They almost shot him and some of the others when they refused to go, you know, before the Sarge talked everybody down. He was always the bridge between factions. He put in a ton of work to make this all run right, to keep everything balanced - he and Uncle Ryan and Nascim and Pete and the Doc - Eva, she was from the townie contingent, I think she’d been an EMT. That was our council, at least until the pneumonia got half of them.

You look surprised.

**_This all seems pretty orderly._ **

Yeah, I can imagine what you were expecting from us - what you've heard from the guys sitting out there with the tanks, the ones who want to come marching back in here and take over, when they’re the ones who left us behind in the first place. They say all of us who grew up here, the guys who raised us – they say we're as bad as those kids who grew up alone in the wild, wandering around eating roots and dirt, after their parents were eaten by Zack, right? Poorly socialized? Or not even socialized at all? They call us ferals, and worse. Maybe they’ve even convinced themselves that we are, so they don't feel so bad about what they want to do to us. It makes it easier for them. Mercy blow, right?

But we'd already self-selected, hadn't we, during the Exodus? Sure, it took a few banishments before people realized that the new Prison Council meant business, that they weren't joking around. But everybody here - mostly, we were the ones smart enough to know what we had to do to survive. And nobody was making you stay - if you wanted to go, you could just walk out. _Maldición_ , that would just mean more potatoes for the rest of us. The problem wasn't keeping people _in_. They only had to open the doors once, and the problem's never been keeping people _in_ since then. The hard work was just figuring out how we were all gonna put up with each other.

I wonder, sometimes, what the negotiations with the army and these diplomats now would be like, if the Sarge was still around, or maybe Sister Pete.

~~Uncle Ryan told me once, he knew how uncomfortable the Sarge was, letting him have a gun, but he did it anyway. Ryan laughed about it, but he didn't sound like he thought it was funny. Anybody who really knew him should have known he'd save every single bullet for Zack. I don't know that I've ever known anyone who actually hates ghouls as much as Ryan. He wasn't about to waste those bullets on the people around him.~~

You asked about growing up here, though. We were here before the height of the Panic, before the Exodus happened - we were here already when the old prison admin made the decision to lock the place down, after the Battle of Yonkers went so bad and Zack just ate his way through the army. I was ... not quite four at that point, I guess. Mostly, I remember bits and pieces. I remember sleeping on a cot in the rooms where they'd had conjugal visits back in the day. I wasn't allowed down to the cellblock areas until after the Exodus and the Lockdown. I remember television - there was always a television going in the early days, always someone watching in the staff area. I think maybe someone was assigned to it, near the end, right before everything went to shit and there wasn't any television any more. 

I remember the dogs - as far back as I can remember, there were the dogs. ~~The Sarge used to say, that was probably the first sign they had - the old drug dogs kept alerting on some of the visitors, but they couldn't find anything on them, no matter how much they searched. They figured it was people who were using, with residue on their clothes, he said. Looking back, once we started getting info from the Radio Free Earth broadcasts - once we started piecing together how they worked - it was Father Ray who suggested maybe they had low-grade infections, bites somewhere on a hand or a foot or a leg, with the virus working its way into their circulatory system, something that hadn't hit the nervous system and the brain. That's probably how it got in the building for the outbreaks before the Lockdown - guys processed in who hadn't died and woken up again, yet. It's probably a good thing they didn't allow conjugal visits - we heard that's how it moved into other systems really fast.~~ We've always made sure to keep the dogs, even when we went hungrier so they could be fed. We heard how the Israelis had been using them to screen refugees, the way they'd alert when they scented Zack, that you could train the ones who'd stand their ground against the undead.

You'd think I'd be scared of the dogs, five years old, six, but I remember I couldn't go to sleep at night unless I had a dog curled up at the bottom of my bunk. I remember thinking they brought me to Papa to raise because of the dogs, because I wanted to be around the dogs, all the time, after what happened, and he was one of the trainers. Shit, some days, maybe they thought he could train me, too.

**_And other days?_ **

Other days ... The older I got, the more I realized he'd lost something that made him willing to take me on, something Father Ray used as leverage. It was different from a lot of the other guys in there who suspected they'd lost family. That's one of the things that used to tear them apart, easy, drive them crazy - the not knowing. Beecher was always like that. I'm not sure Beecher ever really forgave Uncle Ryan for tricking him into staying through the Exodus, long enough to see what happened to the guys who walked out. I think he always resented it, just a little bit, no matter how many times Ryan yelled at him that he would have just got his dumb ass eaten, too, and then what good would he be to anybody, let alone his kids?

But Papa ... he wasn't frantic with it, the way Beecher was, or Old Agamemnon. Papa was sure. Whoever he'd lost was gone before all this went to shit.

He'd sing to me sometimes, lullabies in Spanish, wash whatever shit off my face that Alonzo had made us both up with and sit me on his lap and rock me to sleep. I'm not sure he was always singing to me.

**_But you weren't the only kid in Oswald._ **

One of the best ways for the townies to get themselves in when they came banging on the doors was to have a kid or two with them. And we had a couple of other families almost immediately, from some of the staff who managed to bring them in before the Lockdown. And I remember playing with Asha and Terry Browne in the family room when we heard the sirens, the giant puzzle blocks we had - those probably got burned for fuel that first winter, along with most of the books we had then. Sister Pete started making an annual ceremony out of that, like a kind of graduation - every year, we'd burn the books we'd already learned from, all together, and she'd make a new list of what we had to learn the next year, to send out with the salvage crews that would go out between the snows in February and March - after the new sections of wall were done, before the thaw. That let us have lessons, just as good as other kids. Maybe better, at that point. Letters and numbers with Pete, and then math and history with Tamara - she'd been married to one of the guys my mother worked with, taught school before she came to Oz just before the Lockdown. Poet taught us to rhyme. Father Ray took over later - French and Latin, geometry that we'd use on the construction crews, even though it was always getting harder, at that point, to find time for lessons in the winter, once you got old enough for cleanup, or to go out on salvage. 

We'd send out the salvage teams while everything was frozen solid, those first few years, stock up on canned goods, ammo, new clothes - warm stuff from out at the clothing mill. If we were lucky, the crews that went up to the National Forest for wood would come back with some deer, too. The first time I went out it was ... I don't know. Strange, to look out forever without seeing any kind of walls, and nowhere to hide. 

**_And the salvage crews always came back._ **

Yeah, man. We're not stupid. Where else were you going to go? It wasn't safe out there even in the winter - you'd still get squatters, stragglers stumbling in from further south. North, they said - go north, where the cold would slow Zack down. By that time, the survivors we'd see were desperate, more dangerous than ghouls because they were unpredictable. You never knew what they were going to do. Who wouldn't come back here? It doesn't matter what's out there, it's not worth being eaten, by Zack or by some poor motherfucker who just hadn't had a decent meal in months.

**_You weren't living with your mother, by then._ **

No. She was gone by then.

**_Can you talk about that?_ **

I was six. It was a couple of years after the Lockdown. Maybe we'd got complacent, I don't know. So many places had been closed off in the first scramble to get everyone safe ... Every now and then, you'd break open a new level or a new block and you'd find a nest of them, stuck raving or in stasis for, I don’t know – years, in the dark. Sometimes you'd hear that goddamned moan in time, but sometimes ... You can't imagine the acoustics in the place, the way it sounds like they're coming from everywhere, so you don't know where they actually are. And sometimes, you'd just find one wandering, randomly, some ghoul who'd been lost in the maze for months, maybe even years, thawing out in the spring, just like the ones out in No Man's Land. You'd get those, back in those days, before we'd walked every inch of the complex and taken all of it back. ~~I remember one wandering into the populated blocks - it still had on most of a black uniform, dirty Glock dangling from a rotted belt that it never even went for. Most of its fingers were gone. It looked like it'd been climbed over, so maybe it’d been stuck somewhere with some other ghouls. I was maybe nine at that point. We baited it into one of the plexi cells in Em City, and Uncle Ryan spent a couple of weeks just sitting, staring at it, like he was studying it - shit, maybe he thought he was having some kind of staredown. Papa finally told him to stop before everybody started thinking _he_ was the fucking bug, and Heim went in, put a mercy round between its eyes.~~

Anyway, it was three of them, they told me later. There could have been six, seven, eight of them, from what I remember. It always seems like a lot more when I dream about it. They'd probably thawed, maybe wandered closer in from somewhere else in the building. I don't think we knew they'd do that, yet, or that we had any idea of how many had been infected before the Lockdown. We'd finally gotten some of the lights back on, salvaged enough gasoline over the winter to have the generators going a couple of hours a day, to turn the lights back on in the populated blocks. We’d heat water for baths, down in the old admin section of the building, and we were on our way back to the blocks. It started low - you could hear this shuffle, first, this ... scrape, scrape, scrape, you know the sound they make on pavement? Only the walls in there, they magnify it, right? Throw the sound back and forth? And you can't tell if it's coming from in front of you or behind you or on which side, and then you can hear the moans, and it sounds like they're coming from everywhere, so you don't know where they're coming from.

**[She accepts another cigarette and holds it steady for an offered flame.]**

They were around a corner. We practically ran right into them. Mama knocked two of them down, pushed the other one, dragged me away, into the nearest block, through the control station. She managed to hit the button for the cell doors, picked me up. Ran for the cell doors before they finished closing. And then it was the two of us, pressed up against the back wall while three ghouls kept reaching through, trying to get close enough to grab us.

**_That's SOP when you encounter them in Oswald._ **

Sure. You lock yourself down, so they can't reach you through the bars. We had a couple of dumbasses, early on, who tried to corral Zack into the cells and lock him down, instead. That almost never ended well. So you lock yourself down, stay out of reach, and then you radio your location, so somebody can come in on Zack's six and clean him up. At first, you were responsible for taking him out yourself, however many rounds to the head, and then you’d sit tight and wait for the response team to show up and let you out. We started having to salvage further out for ammo, though, so we started prioritizing long-range rounds for the guard towers. Papa must have drilled me a million times, later – how to move fast through the control station of every one of the populated blocks and the outlying patrolled units, where the switches for the cell doors were, which ones were close enough to make it inside before the doors closed on you. Over and over and over again.

**[She laughs again.]**

Maybe he was training me like one of the dogs.

So we were locked in, and Mama radioed in. And then she gave me the radio, showed me the button to push, told me if they asked any questions back, to just keep telling them "B-24, B-24." Unit B, cell 24 - that was the block and cell we were in. She told me to hunker down in the corner, to turn my head and close my eyes tight, like we were playing the hiding game. Told me not to look until I heard Father Ray or the Sarge outside the cell. And then there were four shots. Three and one.

**_She shot the zombies._ **

Yes.

**_And herself._ **

Yeah. Put her gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. She ... One of them had bitten her, you know, when we first ran into them. She was bleeding - her left arm. We didn't know yet how long infection could take, but it was a death sentence any way you looked at it. And we did know that you had to ... you know. Destroy the brain to take Zack out. 

The mercy round.

Uncle Ryan used to say that it didn't surprise him. That she was obstinate enough to want to choose her own way out.

**_You don't think she had a choice._ **

Not if she wanted to save me.

**[She looks through the fence, out past the DMZ, ~~like she can see to~~ toward the U.S. Army encampment at the southwest border.]**

Trapped like everyone else inside those walls. And I just kept my eyes shut tight, kept pressing the button and repeating it, "B-24, B-24." Unit B, cell 24. Until the response team showed up with the dogs. Until they brought Father Ray to the cell. He told me, years later, that they had to pry the radio out of my hands, that I kicked and screamed and didn't want to let it go.

Last time I was an escort for our negotiations team, some weaselly little guy – they told me he used to be the governor out here - he sat there with his escort of Army LTs and looked right at me, right in the middle of it all. Looked me in the face and told me that it was going to be OK, that I could stop fighting now. The thing that people like him - people like you - don't get? It's that Zack, he's business as usual for us. We grew up with him. We're like the dogs - we can sense him, smell him. And we can either cower, or we can look him in the eye and say "Fuck you. This is my ground." _Canes pugnaces. Perros de la guerra._

War dogs.

We don't remember what it was like, before, and we're not all nostalgic and shit for some lost paradise. What I know is these walls and the land around them - the land I cleared winter after winter after winter to keep it free of Zack. And I'm keeping it now. Where was that weasel when we were starving, when Pete and the Sarge were hacking up their lungs, when we were all fighting to survive?

**[She shrugs and takes the last drag of the cigarette before checking the heft of the sniper rifle slung over her shoulder.]**

They're going to have to come to terms with us. We're willing to bet that after half a continent of the undead, they're not so eager to pay the price to take this land. Not if they can come to terms.

The Free Zones had a saying: "We didn't leave America - America left us." Shit, America abandoned my community a long time before Zack showed up. I've heard stories about the riot that happened here, back when it was a prison, and about the aftermath. Well, we don't need them for food, now. We had to figure that out for ourselves. And they can't cut our power this time. We lost that and got it back for ourselves, a long time ago.

 

*Despite controlled tests, the scientific community remains unsure how the virus that animates the undead holds them in stasis through freezing and allows them to reanimate when they thaw.  



End file.
